


Some Heavenly Star-Spangled Night

by RileyC



Category: DCU, DCU - Comicverse, World's Finest (Comics)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Angsty Schmoop, Dragons, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Wishes, heart's desire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-09-03
Updated: 2012-03-05
Packaged: 2017-10-23 09:37:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/248868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RileyC/pseuds/RileyC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aphrodite grants Superman his heart's desire, and then there's dragons. Yeah, that's about it.</p><p>Oh, and Bruce writes some really bad poetry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 5th birthday celebration, in response to Bradygirl_12's prompt: In gratitude for having helped saved Olympus, Aphrodite grants Clark a Gift of Love: the eyes of his Heart's Desire will be opened to the truth of his heart.

  
**Part One**   


“Kal-El of Krypton, our daughter, Diana, tells us without your contribution, this day’s outcome could have been dire indeed.”

Summoned before the Goddess of Love, who proved to be vastly more beautiful and compelling than any mortal artist had ever captured in paint or marble, Clark Kent wanted to scuff his toe and duck his head and mumble, “Aw, shucks, ma’am.”

Superman, however, squared his shoulders, standing tall; still modest, but graceful with it.

“Diana exaggerates—“ he started to say, only to have the goddess fix him with a knowing look .

“I believe we both know she does not, Kal-El,” Aphrodite said, a faint smile curving her lips that would have put the Mona Lisa to shame.

He did bow his head slightly at the gentle reprimand. “We do, yes. I beg your pardon.”

“Granted.”

“And it was my honor to contribute what skills I have to the battle.”

“They are impressive skills, Kal-El. You would not disgrace Olympus.”

He did feel a faint burn in his face at that compliment, however sincerely meant. “I thank you, ma’am,” _(How did you address a goddess? Somehow that had never come up when his Ma was teaching him his manners back in Kansas.)_ “but I’m not a god.”

“Nor was Hercules, nor Perseus, yet both have their place among us.” Aphrodite tilted her head slightly, considering him. “You would decline such a reward?”

“I…” Oh now, this was delicate territory. He wished Diana had given him a few tips on how to handle this meeting. He wished Diana had come with him. “I would be honored by the offer,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “but my place is in Man’s World.”

She regarded him, nodding slowly. “Diana does tell us Man’s World is in great need of all its heroes,” she said at last. “We would not deprive them of their greatest. Is there no reward you would claim for yourself, Kal-El?”

“I have all that I need, ma’am.”

“Truly?” Those eyes, a luminous, golden brown seemed to stare right into him, more deeply than his own x-ray vision could penetrate. “Are you not lonely, Kal-El?”

That caught him off guard. “I…” He tried not to shrug. “No more than anyone.”

Odd how those glowing eyes could be so kind and yet so terrifying at the same time, just barely hinting at the power being contained. “We can see your Heart’s Desire, Kal-El.”

He looked up sharply at that, feeling his heart stutter for a moment. “Then you must know it’s impossible.”

She looked at him, something almost roguish in those eyes. “Impossible? We do not recognize this word.”

“Ma’am—“

“Go, Kal-El; return to Man’s World, and find your Heart’s Desire.”

 _Oh crap._

~*~

High up in his luxuriously appointed office overlooking Gotham City, Bruce Wayne was finishing up a phone call. As he replaced the phone in its cradle, his gaze fell on the yellow legal pad where he’d been jotting notes, and … doodling.

Doodling?

He never doodled.

He certainly never doodled Superman – and it was definitely the Man of Steel, tights, cape, and all – performing aerial acrobatics as if showing off his flying prowess for an admiring audience.

Not to mention Clark never did that. Not even when a crowd at some charity event was pleading with him to perform tricks as though he was a trained monkey.

Bruce tore the sheet off the pad, crumpled it up and tossed it at the trash can – it hit the rim and bounced across the carpet. Frowning, he got up to retrieve it, dropping it into the can, and sitting back down at his desk.

As he tried to work, though, he kept thinking about those doodles, and wondering what someone would think if they rooted through his trash and found them. Just because he couldn’t immediately extrapolate some scenario of apocalyptic doom resulting from such a discovery didn’t mean there couldn’t be one. After a couple of minutes of that, he sighed, got up to retrieve the scrunched up piece of paper, and slipped it into his suit coat pocket instead.

Concentration on work continued to elude him, however, his thoughts straying back to Clark at the slightest provocation. This wasn’t entirely inexplicable. All he’d seen of Clark since the battle at Olympus was a scarlet cape whipping around a corner as Clark ducked out of sight at the Watchtower.

Clark was avoiding him.

Bruce had gone down a list of possible reasons in his mind, declaring none of them sufficient cause for Clark’s odd behavior. So – it was a puzzle, and he could no more resist working it out than he could trade in the Batmobile for a mini-van.

After all, what else could it be? he wondered, tapping his pen against the legal pad.

Looking down, he saw he’d just written Clark Kent a half dozen times, enclosing each one in a Valentine heart.

Even though he was completely alone in the office, he glanced around sheepishly, ripped that sheet off the pad as well and stuffed it in his pocket.

~*~

Picking up Bruce’s clothes, scattered hastily on the Batcave floor, Alfred was somewhat bemused to discover several wadded up sheets of paper crammed into the pockets of his suit. Investigating further, he uncrumpled the sheets and smoothed them out, eyebrows climbing towards his hairline as he took in the contents.

Behind him, an arm shot out to take one of the papers, a youthful and amused voice reading:

“ _Your eyes of blue,  
Your heart so true,  
Will you be mine,  
My…_ What did Bruce scratch out there?”

“Master Dick, really.” Too late now, Alfred gathered the damning bits of paper together. “You might give a person some warning.” Not for the first time he thought about demanding that his charges be belled like cats when they were at home in the Manor.

“What are these?” Dick asked, gleefully snagging another page and looking at it, eyes growing wide. “Oh. My. God.”

Yes, Alfred had seen that one: a sketch of Master Clark, rather disheveled, with his necktie askew and shirt open to reveal the costume underneath, glasses sliding down his nose.

“Bruce and _Clark_?” Dick Grayson was bouncing on his toes with the excitement. “ _Batman and Superman?!_ ” he said, voice going up a couple of octaves.

Retrieving the drawing, Alfred felt it prudent to caution the boy. “We mustn’t get ahead of ourselves, Master Dick.”

“Alfred,” Dick gave him a level look, suddenly much more mature than his fourteen years, “Bruce is writing him poetry. _Bad_ poetry, but, still.”

“True, but this _is_ Master Bruce we’re talking about.”

“Yeah,” Dick’s shoulders slumped for a moment, elation dimming just a bit. “But wouldn’t it be cool?”

“It would, indeed, be cool, Master Dick.”

“We have to do something,” Dick said, enthusiasm rushing back as surely as the tide.

“Master Dick—“

“I know! We could fix it so they got locked in a bank vault, and the air could be running out, so Clark would have to give Bruce mouth to mouth…” He trailed off at the look Alfred was giving him. “No?”

“Why wouldn’t Superman simply break them out of the vault?”

“Oh.” Dick’s face fell for a moment, then brightened as quickly. “Maybe the walls could be reinforced with Kryptonite!”

“Master Dick.” Alfred used his most reprimanding tone of voice, fixing the youngster with a firm look.

“Well,” Dick scuffed a toe against the carpet, “it was just an idea. There has to be something we can do to make this happen.”

“It is my experience that one cannot ‘make’ these things happen. Matters of the heart transcend even the powers of heroes, Master Dick.”

“All we can do is wait and hope?”

“I fear so.”

After a moment, Dick nodded, squaring his slim shoulders. “Okay, but if it looks like Bruce is going to mess this up, well,” he added in an attempt at copying the Dark Knight’s ominous tones, “I won’t answer for my actions.”

Alfred’s mustache twitched as he hid a smile.

Then Dick spoiled the menacing aura he’d attempted to weave by doing a back flip and crowing, “Superman and Batman! Holy heroes hookup!”

~*~

  
**Part Two**   


The emergency call from J’onn had provided Bruce with a welcome distraction. Simply donning the suit, the weight of the armor, made him feel better.

Tugging the cowl into place, he hesitated a moment before reaching down to the clothes he’d left scattered on the cave floor and extracting one of the balled up pieces of paper. Clark couldn’t duck out on him this time, and he meant to be armed with some evidence if Clark even thought about pretending ignorance that anything was going on.

There was a chance Clark didn’t know, of course; that this … spell, whatever it was, hadn’t hit the Kryptonian too, and that Clark was dodging him for some other reason. There was a chance Clark would find the whole thing completely hilarious. All the more reason this had to be done as Batman.

Satisfied he was prepared for every eventuality, Bruce called for teleport.

~*~

All right, he had not been expecting mechanized dragons soaring over the skies of Metropolis, the sun shimmering off their metallic wings and bodies as they breathed Kryptonite-fueled fire down on the city.

There were five of them – no, four: Green Arrow had just loosed three explosive arrows in rapid succession that struck true, a coppery dragon bursting apart, pieces raining down, Superman in the air and Flash on the ground competing to gather all the parts.

“Two guesses who’s behind this,” Superman said, coming over to him, hovering, breathing hard.

Batman shot him a look, taking in the droplets of perspiration sliding down Superman’s face. The sweat mingled with trickles of blood, from a sharp-edged tail whipping into his face. Even that damn curl was plastered to his forehead with it. Ripped fabric exposing a broad shoulder scored with claws that had raked down his back, and the faint burn showing the length of one thigh, was even more troubling. “No guesses – and we’d only need one anyway.” Where Luthor kept getting his hands on Kryptonite, where he’d gotten these dragons, were questions that could wait, however. “ _You_ need to get out of here.”

Of course Superman shook his head, practically radiating stubbornness. “I’m fine,” he said, breath still sounding labored. “The Kryptonite’s diluted.”

Batman narrowed his eyes. “How diluted?”

The grim set to the square jaw told him more than the vague answer, “Enough.”

“We can handle it, Clark.” He, Flash, Arrow, and Wonder Woman were enough; they had to be, with the rest of the team away on other missions. “Go back to the Watchtower; let J’onn look you over. We don’t need a liability.”

Superman shot him a look, obstinate with a spark of hurt. “You don’t have one,” he ground out, soaring into the clear, late afternoon sky once more, wheeling and darting in a spectacular display that reminded Bruce of that ridiculous drawing this morning. This was vastly more breathtaking.

The laser beams shooting out to dismantle the silver dragon with expert precision was just showing off.

With the cowl obscuring his face, Bruce was assured all anyone could see was a smirk – it _felt_ like a smirk, it had to be a smirk – and not him staring in rapt admiration.

~*~

Singed and battered, Flash and Green Arrow were down for the count. Wonder Woman had led the golden dragon out over the ocean, getting a last minute assist from Aquaman. That left the black one – the biggest of the batch, an eerie green glow emanating from it.

Standing atop one of the towering, gleaming buildings that Metropolis was famous for, Batman conceded a certain admiration for the machines. Under other circumstances, they could have been magnificent. This one, though -- its wings flared and blocking out the setting sun, exuding a sense of dark power and something almost sentient, had been crafted with what he suspected was exactly one specific task, to kill Superman – Bruce just wanted to see this one smashed to smithereens on the ground.

He needed to get it away from the city first. So far damage to Metropolis had been contained, most of those shining glass-and-steel towers untouched. That could change quickly.

Bruce took a moment to scanned the sky one more time. “Where are you , damn it?” The whisper, edged with apprehension, escaped him almost involuntarily.

The last he’d seen of Superman, the Man of Steel had been battling a blue-sheened dragon spitting toxic fire at him. Bruce had felt his heart stop for an instant as a burst of fiery breath had enveloped Superman – only feeling it start up again when the smoke and flame cleared in a gust of super breath, Superman emerging and racing by overhead in a blurry streak of red and blue, the dragon in pursuit, diverting it away from the city.

Focused on the distant horizon, Bruce had watched as Superman plummeted earthward in a controlled dive, the dragon right behind. The idea, Bruce had realized, was for the dragon to smash, at high velocity, into the ground while Superman reversed direction at the last split second and raced back into the sky.

It was a good plan. It should have worked. His attention was jerked away before he could witness it, though, and Bruce just had no way of knowing if it had. There was a far off wisp of black smoke billowing upward, but no garishly costumed figure rocketing down from the sky.

Activating the comm link, he demanded, urgent, almost angry with it, “Superman! Answer me, damn it!”

“No need to yell,” Clark’s voice came to him over the link, hoarse, weak, a little strained like he was fighting off pain – but blessedly alive.

Bruce absorbed that, startled by the intensity of his relief. “How badly are you injured?”

“I’m okay.” So much for Superman never lying. “What do you need me to do?”

“Get to the Watchtower. I’ve got everything under control.”

“Uh-huh. All the dragons grounded?”

“Just about. I have a plan. I can hear you smiling.” And the strange thing was he really could. “Plans and strategy happen to be vital components to mission success. There’s nothing amusing about them.”

“Blah blah blah,” Clark’s voice crackled in his ear. “I can hear you smirking.”

“Just get to the Watchtower, somewhere safe, Superman. You’ve done enough.”

“Uh-huh.”

Bruce knew noncommittal when he heard. “I’m calling J’onn.”

“Tattletale. You are totally smirking.”

He was; he couldn’t deny it. It faded quickly as he heard Clark suppressing a grunt of pain. “Superman, this one time, will you do what I tell you?”

There was a short pause, as if Clark was trying to compose himself before replying, still trying to keep up the bantering tone. “Just this one time?”

“Superman—“

“Sorry, I think our connection’s breaking up.”

“This isn’t a damn cell phone! Superman!” Mentally cursing pigheaded Kryptonians, Bruce contacted the Watchtower. “J’onn—“

“I am on my way, Batman.”

“Keep him out of trouble, J’onn.”

“I shall do my best.”

He’d have to hope that would be good enough, Bruce realized. He hated having to depend on something so fragile.

Casting another look skyward, confirming the black dragon’s position – still roaring through the sky, spitting out fire, gleaming windows rattling with it.

Bruce fixed an eye on his goal, LexCorp, and launched himself into the air, cape flaring out into an approximation of wings as he glided through the steel-and-concrete canyons. It wasn’t flying, but it would do.

It would most certainly do.

... _to be continued_

 

==========================================  
 _When an irresistible force such as you  
Meets an old immovable object like me  
You can bet just as sure as you live  
Somethin's gotta give  
Somethin's gotta give  
Somethin's gotta give_

 _When an irrepressible smile such as yours  
Warms an old implacable heart such as mine  
Don't say no, because I insist  
Somewhere, somehow, someone's gotta be kissed_

 _So, en garde, who knows what the fates might have in store?  
From their vast mysterious sky?  
I'll try hard ignorin' those lips that I adore  
But how long can anyone try?_

 _Fight, fight, fight, fight, fight it with all of our might  
Chances are some heavenly star-spangled night  
We'll find out just as sure as we live  
Somethin's gotta give  
Somethin's gotta give  
Somethin's gotta give_

 _  
_

_Fight fight fight it with all of your might  
Chances are that some heavenly star-spangled night  
We'll find out just as sure as we live  
Somethin's gotta give  
Somethin's gotta give  
Somethin's gotta give_

 _Somethin's gotta give  
Somethin's gotta give_


	2. Chapter 2

**Part Three**  
  
Clark had been an idiot, avoiding Bruce these last couple of weeks just because he was embarrassed.  
  
Nothing had changed between them. Clark hadn’t really believed they would. Or, only for a moment; allowing a tiny ember of hope to flicker to life until a wash of reality had snuffed it out. Aphrodite couldn’t give him Bruce. No one could – except Bruce, and Clark had long ago accepted that was never going to happen.   
  
It was all right. It was more than all right. Spending time with Bruce, having his back, believing they had achieved a kind of friendship – that was tremendous.   
  
All he’d been doing was denying himself those moments, those times when he felt truly connected to Bruce. At the end of a battle, both of them wrung out and banged up, sharing a look that said more than words, communicating the shared triumph of having survived – and the pain of knowing others hadn’t. Even better, most precious of all because they were so rare, those times when everything was still and quiet, just them in a moment out of time. Bruce would lower his guard just a fraction and Clark might even get a smile out of him. Clark had cataloged every one of those, storing them up like treasure. If fortune was truly smiling, there might be a touch – a comradely shoulder clasp, a handshake. Provided they were locked up in a dark, dank dungeon on Apokolips and near death, Bruce might even let Clark hold him for thirty seconds. It was never enough, and only made him desperately want more, but if that was all he could ever have Clark would take it and be thankful.   
  
How many chances like that had he missed the last couple of weeks?  
  
So – enough. He _would_ get to Bruce and be there for him, at his side for another battle … in just another minute, he amended, sinking back on the loose shale and rock in the hills outside Metropolis.  
  
Clark had actually had a plan this time; Bruce might even have given his growl of approval. He really thought it would have turned out as planned, too, if he’d been at a hundred percent. As it was, Clark hadn’t been able to pull out of his dive in time and the dragon had exploded around him, scorching him, showering him with sharp, sizzling shrapnel. A couple of pieces were still embedded in his back. He could feel them, a faint but constant stinging/throbbing pain that made him think the pieces were tainted with Kryptonite.  
  
It was definitely in the oily black tendrils of smoke that had drifted out from the wreckage, almost as if seeking him out. He had stumbled, crawled as far away from it as he could, collapsing when he could go no further. Tumbled there in an ungainly sprawl, soaking up as much of the dwindling sunlight as he could, he knew it wouldn’t be enough.  
  
But it would do. It had to.  
  
Rolling over, Clark braced his hands against the rock, trying to ignore how the sharp rock dug into his flesh. Arms trembling, fingers tearing on the sharp stones, he pushed himself up – there, almost to his knees, just a little more … His hand slipped, slick with blood, his arm giving out on him, and he couldn’t keep from crying out in pain, in frustration, as he crumpled again. He pounded a fist against the rock, eyes stinging, as he tried to fight it off.  
  
He bit his lip against the pain. He hurt so much… All these years and he could never get used to the pain, the shock of his body failing him. He felt ashamed, frightened of a paper cut, when Bruce bore up under so much more, every day, never bitching and moaning about it.  
  
After another moment he tried again, dragging himself up the slope of the hill, reaching a ledge. Fingers digging into stone, pushing himself upright inch by agonizing inch until his feet were under him and he was practically hugging the rock wall, hanging on for all he was worth.  
  
A few more precious seconds dragged by and, slowly, carefully, freezing in place for a terrifying instant as his foot slipped, scrabbling frantically for purchase in the loose shale, Clark turned, his back pressed to the rock as he turned his face up to the sun, trembling as its healing rays soaked into him.   
  
He wished it was high noon, not a cloud in the sky. He wished a lot of things, but reality would have to do.  
  
Closing his eyes and focusing, Clark sought out Bruce’s heartbeat, trying to isolate it amid all of the clamor. Fear spiked through him again when he couldn’t instantly locate it. “Bruce…” No. No, there it was. There it was, and he took the opportunity simply to focus on that steady beat, gradually expanding outward to pick up the quiet swish/swoosh as Bruce – as Batman – glided through the glass-and-steel canyons of Metropolis.  
  
Where was Bruce headed? What was the plan? Whatever it was, Bruce would need backup, and Clark wasn’t about to let him down.  
  
Another sound was intruding and he looked skyward, spotting the Javelin on the edge of the atmosphere – J’onn coming to rescue him.  
  
 _*Not now, J’onn.*  
  
*Superman, you are badly injured. Let me get you to the Watchtower, then I will return to assist Batman.*  
  
*Not enough time. Go help Flash and Green Arrow. They need you more.*  
  
*Superman--!*_  
  
Sending his mental regrets to the Martina Manhunter, Clark shifted position, standing straight and tall and ready for launch.  
  
This was either going to be really humiliating, or – no, not humiliating, not at all, he thought, launching himself into the air and soaring into the sky, higher, higher, clearing the clouds, until he was basking in the yellow sun energy that sustained him. Suspended there, he zeroed in on Bruce’s position again. Alarm surging through him, he instantly plunged earthward, setting off a sonic boom, praying he could get to Bruce in time.  
  
~*~  
  
High atop his tower, Lex Luthor could hardly contain his glee as he peered through a pair of high-powered binoculars, following the battle. Everything was going even better than he had anticipated.  
  
He had known something special had virtually fallen into his hands when his people found the crashed spacecraft. Its alien pilot – some winged lizard with eyes like faceted jewels – had survived long enough to impart the intent of its mission: offering the dragons as a gift to the people of Earth. The intended purpose of the mechanized dragons, it seemed, was to be of benign service. They could be programmed to fight raging wildfires, or control crop-damaging insect infestations, turn devastating flood waters into harmless vapor – or, after being reverse engineered so as to fully understand how they worked, designed to lay waste to the great cities of the world, unless Luthor’s demands were met.  
  
Oh, and kill Superman.  
  
Lex thought he might be especially partial to that phase of the plan.  
  
He’d lost track of Batman but that was a minor concern. If the dragons didn’t polish him off this time, the next batch, unleashed on Gotham, would do the trick. Witnessing Superman’s demise, the dragon’s Kryptonite-fueled fiery breath burning him to cinders, nothing left but ashes scattered on the wind was his top priority now – just thinking about it practically gave him a hard on.  
  
Locating the black dragon, circling the _Daily Planet_ building now (and Lex smiled like a cat up to its whiskers in cream at the thought of the dragon frying Lois Lane), Lex pocketed the binoculars and started over to where his private helicopter waited. “Ready to go?” he called out to the pilot, rounding the tail of the ‘copter and practically walking straight into the black gauntleted fist that slammed into his jaw, sending him tumbling backward to slam into a concrete wall.  
  
Lex was still sliding down the wall when Batman grabbed him by the feet, dragging him to the edge of the building even as Lex scrabbled frantically for some purchase, perfectly manicured nails breaking, fingers tearing. “You won’t kill me!” he shouted, spitting blood from his cut lip as Batman pulled him upright, right on the edge. “You’re bluffing! That’s why you never win, none of you! None of you has the balls!” Lex snarled at the soulless white lenses staring back at him.  
  
For one split second, as he felt nothing but air under his dangling feet, Lex thought he might have miscalculated this time; Batman always was the wild card in this game.   
  
“There are worse things than death, Luthor,” Batman said, voice a low and dangerous rumble. “Slow and insidious, eating you alive from the inside. But you know that, don’t you? That’s what terrifies you, keeps you awake at night, knowing it’s already inside you, gnawing away until one day you’re gone, gone and forgotten while Superman lives forever.” He did drop Lex then, tossing him down on the roof as if Lex wasn’t worth even a second more of his time.   
  
“You think you’ve won?” Lex struggled, fought as Batman snapped cuffs on him, securing him to a piece of metal railing. “You think Superman’s going to fly in and save the day?” He laughed, picturing it, loving that picture. “I’m counting on it, asshole!” he screamed as Batman left him there, heading for the helicopter.  
  
About to swing up into the pilot’s seat, Batman stared back at him, trying to work it out, probably wanting to stride back and try pounding it out of him. The black dragon’s roar splitting the sky, breathing out a burst of fire that engulfed the revolving globe atop the _Daily Planet_ building pulled him away, though, climbing into the helicopter and leaving Lex there, handcuffed and pathetic.  
  
Pathetic… Lex spit blood out of his mouth, managing a smile even now.   
  
They’d see who was pathetic. The whole goddamn world would see.  
  
 _to be continued_


End file.
